


Cinnamon and Tobacco

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 08:37:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13877229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: The hand moved from Raoul's forehead and carded back his hair. He let out a little sigh and involuntarily opened his eyes, instinctual as a blink. The light dazed him for a second, and then his vision settled on the figure of the daroga.“You are safe, monsieur,” the daroga said, voice soft and smooth. “If you want, you can go back to sleep.”





	Cinnamon and Tobacco

Raoul knew he was safe now because he was in a bed. Safe or dreaming. Hard to say which, and he didn’t care to open his eyes to find out. He could pretend for now he was safe. If he opened his eyes, trying to ascertain if there truly was sunlight glinting on his eyelids, then he might know a drearier truth for certain.

For a long time, he was not sure how long, he had been surrounded by nothing but stone. Well, he’d had a wood bench to sit on which was not really even a cot. Sleeping he had lain on the floor, unable to get comfortable but somehow fatigued despite the fact that he spent his days with nothing to do but sit still. He had been angry at Erik for a while, and worried for Christine. He had been concerned about the daroga even, who had been dragged away yelling at Erik about how keeping Raoul here against his word was unjust. But the cell had slowly stolen away his emotions. It was always dark there, and always cold, and he was always hungry, even though Erik did generally remember to feed him. He had been angry and worried and afraid, and then he had been tired and afraid only, and then he had gotten feverishly sick and given up on feeling things. It took too much energy. All he had the ability to feel was misery.

But now, he did not feel miserable. His body still ached and his head and throat hurt, but he was in a bed. It was warm. He only felt a little hungry, not bad at all, and there was a pleasant smell in the air. A mixture of spices. He tried to identify them—cumin, he could tell that one was rather strong, and perhaps cardamom and a hint of cinnamon. Then he laughed a little at himself. How silly, to think there were proper ingredients to the scent one smelled in a dream! But he was surprised that his imagination had brought this about. Usually he dreamed in colors and sounds, and rarely in tastes or smells.

Footsteps. Well, there was the sound element. And then a hand came to rest on his forehead. Neither dry nor damp, fairly large. The smell of spices was now accented with the scent of tobacco.

The hand moved from his forehead and carded back his hair. He let out a little sigh and involuntarily opened his eyes, instinctual as a blink. The light dazed him for a second, and then his vision settled on the figure of the daroga.

“You are safe, monsieur,” the daroga said, voice soft and smooth. “If you want, you can go back to sleep.”

His hand left Raoul’s hair and Raoul weakly reached out and caught it. He could not grip it properly but the daroga let him have it and squeezed back lightly, comfortingly.

Raoul said, “Where are we?” The daroga, after all, was an adventuring sort. Raoul had only ever been with him when chasing through dark tunnels and enduring torture chambers. How he could be here, in a place so nice, escaped Raoul. Perhaps they were hallucinating together. Perhaps they were in an Oriental version of heaven. Not half bad, if not exactly how Raoul would have pictured it.

“This is my apartment,” the daroga said. “I brought you out of that hell—though it’s a miracle I ever managed it. You weren’t all that helpful either.” He huffed, then said, “Not that it’s your fault, the state you’re in. But we can talk about these things later. You need rest.”

Raoul agreed. Part of him was curious but he didn’t really want to talk. His questions were vying too hard for priority: What about Christine? Where was the apartment located? Had the daroga told the police everything that happened? Was Erik still alive? How had the daroga gotten him out? What was the smell? Was there food? Was there water? What time of day was it? How long had it been since…

Easier to ask nothing. He nodded and said, “Thank you, daroga.”

“Since we seem to be on friendly terms, you can call me Nadir.”

 

* * *

 

Nadir was telling the truth when he said that rescuing Raoul had been an endeavor. In fact, it had taken him some time to accomplish it. For a week, he had tried to get in contact with Erik and convince him peaceably to release the poor boy. Then for another week he had tried to break in. Finally on the third week he had succeeded in evading all the traps and making his way down to the Communist prison where Raoul was being held.

He had hoped from there things might get easier—with Raoul along, if one fell into a trap perhaps the other could help, and if they ran into Erik two could fight him better than one, though the prospect didn’t exactly make Nadir happy. Last time they had faced Erik, after all, he had defeated them both easily (though to be fair this had been after hours of torture, leaving both of them very weak). But Raoul was in no condition to help with his own escape. He had been barely lucid when Nadir picked the locks of his cell and handcuffs, and had stumbled through the tunnels giving Nadir nearly all of his weight, mumbling incoherently. How Erik had managed to completely wreck someone’s health in three weeks was a good question, but then, Nadir knew Erik was fond of breaking people and, on the other hand, very bad at taking care of them.

He had worried Raoul might even die or be sick for weeks. But he woke up within hours of arriving in Nadir’s apartment, which seemed promising. Maybe this was merely a temporary fever, violent but brief. Nadir would make him some broth and tea and keep checking in on him, and surely the sickness would pass.

Raoul became lucid in the evening, mostly. He listened to Nadir’s story of his rescue and while his attention sometimes hazily wandered, he only asked Nadir to repeat himself once or twice. Overall he seemed to be following him well enough.

He did not react until Nadir got to the point of bringing him to his apartment. Then he cleared his throat. It was a wretched noise, and judging by his wince he regretted it. “You have done more for me than I deserve, Nadir.”

“I do not offer men help on the basis of what they deserve.” Besides which, anyone deserved better than to run afoul of Erik. That was why Nadir had been trying to keep him under control for years. And Raoul…Raoul did not deserve to be involved in any of this. He was so earnest and innocent, and the fact that he had been entangled in this affair left a bad taste in Nadir’s mouth.

“You are a good man,” Raoul said. “But why did you waste your time rescuing me? Surely your first priority should have been rescuing Christine.”

“You seemed to be in more immediate danger.”

Raoul frowned. “Perhaps I seemed to be, but he was hardly paying attention to me at all.” He swallowed. “What time he did not spend with me he must have spent with Christine. God only knows what he may do to her.”

Nadir put a hand on his shoulder. “Calm yourself. It is true that her situation is not good. We shall have to do something about it when we can form a better plan than our last one. But I don’t think he would hurt her. He loves her, after all. He is capable of a small amount of gentleness with those he loves.”

Raoul huffed. “With those he loves?”

Nadir seemed to feel again the touch of spindly fingers on his back, pressing down on tense nerves, working out knots of tension. “He is capable of it, though rarely.”

“We cannot depend on that.”

“Not for long, no. But until you get better.” Nadir gave Raoul a look as he began to protest. “She should be fine for a while. We can’t know that Erik wouldn’t have killed you in the next couple weeks—or this fever might have, without proper care. But we’ll get your lover out of there. Don’t worry.”

Raoul settled. But he grumbled, “You believe those rumors too?”

“What rumors?”

“That Christine and I were…” Raoul waved a hand.

“No shame in it.”

“Well, we weren’t. We were dear friends. Christine thought if we let the rumors spread they might scare Erik off. It backfired.” Raoul sighed. “I should have known better…this is all my fault.”

“No one can predict Erik.”

“Still.”

Nadir gave Raoul another penetrating look and Raoul gave it up. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful, of course,” he added. “I really might have died—that’s where my own stupidity got me. And for you to take me to your own apartment is very kind of you.”

That was the least of what Nadir had done, really. He shrugged.

“You don’t have to nurse me back to health,” Raoul said. “Although I appreciate it, I’d hate to be a burden. I’m strong enough to go back home, at least, and my family will take care of me. I’m sure they’re worried.”

Nadir cleared his throat. “That might not be a good idea.”

“Why not?”

 

* * *

 

Philippe was dead.

Philippe was dead and he had been since before Raoul had even been captured. He’d been dead three weeks by now. His body had turned up in the river and it was already decomposing. Nadir put it more delicately than that—he said it was “still recognizable to the police because of the items on it”. Raoul had never seen a body that far gone and he didn’t want to picture it but he kept trying anyway, couldn’t help himself.

Philippe was dead and the police blamed Raoul.

“What? How can they—”

“Calm yourself.” Nadir pushed Raoul, who had begun to rise, back into a prone position. “I know it wasn’t you, and I’m sure your family and friends do as well. But you have to understand how it looks to an outsider. The papers had been going mad about your little feud over Miss Daae for weeks.”

“Oh, yes—the papers.” Raoul spat out the word like it was a curse. “They only made things worse between us!” He shook his head. “He kept telling me not to bring the family scandal, but I didn’t think it mattered that much. Because anyone who heard about us from the papers wasn’t exactly a close friend. I didn’t listen to him.”

“They’ve painted you in such a light that you seem to have been in a frenzy over Miss Daae. Plotting to run away with her behind your brother’s back, or at his direct disapproval. Willing to do anything for her sake.”

“Anything but not that!”

“A man wild with passion. Well, everyone loves a scandal.”

“Philippe would kill me,” Raoul said, and realized he was already using the past tense. Funny. He had started to think of everyone and everything in the past tense when he was in the dark and didn’t think he would get out. So thinking he had lost Philippe was easy enough. Part of him had already given up on returning to his normal life, had known things would never be the same. But he was not sure what to think of Philippe being dead, not only not being around to scold Raoul and tell him this mess was all his own fault but not being anywhere at all. _In heaven_ , he told himself. That was what one said in these sorts of situations, wasn’t it?

“The police have been on the lookout for you. They think you and Miss Daae have fled the city. That’s why no one tried to rescue you.” Nadir hesitantly put a hand on Raoul’s shoulder and squeezed it. His words were less comforting. “Your family might not report you if you go to them but it would be hard for everyone in the household to keep you a secret. You have servants, don’t you? Perhaps nosy neighbors and friends? There’s a price on your head—alive, but captured. If you get arrested you will hardly be able to help Miss Daae or yourself, or do anything about Erik.”

Raoul shook his head. Philippe dead. “How?”

“What?”

“How did he die? It must have been murder.”

“Strangled and drowned, some odd combination. The river connects to the sewers.”

Raoul nodded. Of course he had known it was Erik the moment Nadir had said Philippe was dead. This was just confirmation.

“I am sorry for your loss.” Nadir crouched down and gently embraced Raoul. “I am sure his soul will be at peace, knowing he did what he could for you.”

Up close, the smell of cinnamon and tobacco on his neck was as entrancing as incense. Raoul wanted to lose himself in it but he forced himself to ignore it. He did not deserve comfort. “Or he might well haunt me, knowing I was the one to cause his death. The police are not so far from the truth.”

“Erik is the killer, not you. I have seen him kill before. It is his instinct to be brutal.” Nadir hesitantly stood up again. “It is not your fault.”

When Raoul did not respond, he left. Raoul felt more bereft without his presence. But it was good. It was better that he be alone.

He tried to picture what Philippe might say to him. Would he, too, blame Erik? He had never believed in Erik but he would have to now. Would he have realized his murderer was Erik in his final moments? What would he have been thinking? A prayer, for his own soul and Raoul’s survival? A single oath—“curse that Swede”—because the sacrifice was not worth it?

There was no way of knowing.

He slept restlessly. His weakness was too great for him to stay awake but rest and consciousness came in flashes, in stages. He dreamed of Philippe by his side. Sometimes Philippe told him to calm down and stop worrying, and he only grew more distressed. Sometimes Philippe smirked and said, “I see you’ve taken my advice and found yourself a different lover. Already sleeping in his bed? Well, anything’s better than that Daae character.”

He woke in the morning feeling oddly refreshed despite his terrible night. His throat hurt and his body was hot but his head was clear. “Nadir!” he called out. His voice was weak, but after a few repetitions Nadir came hurrying in.

“It’s early. I thought you would sleep later.”

“Well, I did not.” Raoul paused. Should he ask for food? Would that be too presumptuous? Agh, letting this man keep him in his house was such a faux pas, and he was a wanted criminal now, no less. “I think I could get up.”

“For breakfast, maybe. And then back to bed. You will not mend without a great deal of rest. I need you whole.” Nadir bent down and offered Raoul his arm for leverage out of bed. “I will need your help.”

Help enough to maybe get him killed too. “I’ll rest later. But I really do feel better.”

Breakfast was broth and a light chai, the same thing Nadir had fed Raoul last night. Though, Nadir himself was having thick buttered bread, a slice of mild cheese, and a cup of hot chocolate that, judging by the smell, had been mixed with cinnamon. Lavish. Raoul gulped down a too-large spoonful of broth and coughed. He glared at Nadir’s food.

Nadir seemed amused. “If you’re good, you can have a cooked egg with dinner.”

“How kind.”

There was a knock at the door. Nadir cast Raoul a look. “You will have to go back to the bedroom and hide yourself. No one can see you.”

Raoul nodded. The kitchen was off to the side of the parlor, the bedroom down a short hall. But before either of them could step out of the kitchen, there was a click. The sound of the door opening.

Nadir hissed. “Shit.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Nadir got into the parlor Erik was already through the door so it was too late to push him out, though it would have been a stretch at any rate. Nadir walked up to him, stopped about a foot and a half away (he wasn’t stupid enough to try a tackle) and said, “Not like you to be out so early.”

Erik smiled. His mouth was one of the few parts of his face visible despite his mask. “May I ask if Monsieur Raoul de Chagny is in?”

“How can he be, when he’s still in your dungeon? Will you mock me for my attempts?”

“Your attempts have stopped. You weren’t in the opera house yesterday,” Erik said. “You weren’t there this morning either. But I do remember glimpsing you the day before—the day my prisoner vanished.” He reached out and cupped Nadir’s chin with his hand. His fingers felt as hard and cold as they always had. “My dear daroga, you would not try to hide him from me?”

Nadir opened his mouth to vocalize a denial but before he could speak Raoul’s voice came from behind him. “No, I would not try to hide.”

Damn it.

Damn it!

Erik started forward and Nadir really did block him with his body. Erik chuckled. “Daroga, have you gotten a crush on this pathetic creature? You know better than to stand between me and something I want.”

“Nadir, don’t bother.” Raoul’s voice was all business. Nadir couldn’t look away from Erik to glance back and yell at him. “As for you, _Erik_ , I don’t think you’ll find taking me all that easy.”

“Really? Now this amuses me. It was easy enough the first time.”

There was a quiet noise, a rustle. Erik’s eyes widened in the slits of his mask. He finally reached up and pushed Nadir away roughly. Nadir turned, ready to block again, and saw what had startled him. Raoul had somehow in the minute he had alone in the kitchen gotten ahold of the largest and sharpest knife Nadir owned and was currently holding it out in front of himself, elbows braced against his body. His arms were shaking.

“If you come close I’ll stab you,” Raoul said quietly.

“You wouldn’t have the nerve.”

Nadir said, “Raoul…”

“I had the nerve to shoot you, didn’t I? That was a while back but I’m sure you remember.”

Erik grinned, letting his yellowed teeth glint. “The knife and the gun are rather different weapons, monsieur.”

“Either way one of us will be injured quite badly,” Raoul said. “I don’t really care if it’s you or me.”

Erik edged forward. Raoul lifted the knife a little higher. Erik stopped.

He turned to glare at Nadir. “You know, I don’t mind the vicomte’s little games. They’re pitiful but at least they’re funny. You though, daroga. You’re a false friend. I’ve half a mind to strangle you for this.”

“I’ll stab you if you touch him,” Raoul said.

Ignoring the fact that Erik had already touched him. A few different times. In the past minute and a half.

“Raoul, calm down. Erik, be reasonable. You don’t know how to take care of a sick boy. What did you want with a prisoner? Besides, you’d be insane to think I’d let you get away with it.”

“You’ve let me get away with worse.”

“I was a different man then. I’ve changed.”

Erik laughed. “No, I don’t think so. You’re the same old daroga as ever. You don’t give a damn about anyone except just a few people. Used to say you wanted to keep me out of trouble, and that was why you kept trying to come over! Now I thought you’d started to care about Christine Daae somehow but I see I was wrong.” He gestured at Raoul. “You and a vicomte? And a boy half your age, whom you’ve known for hardly any time at all? And for him you betrayed me? This is the most pathetic thing you’ve ever done.”

“Nadir is a good man.”

“That’s enough, Erik,” Nadir said. “You never let me into your home so I’m afraid I’ll have to evict you from mine. You’ve upset my guest.”

But he couldn’t fight Erik. And Raoul wasn’t going to attack either—Allah be praised. For a moment Nadir had imagined he would try to rush Erik (he was reckless enough) which could only have ended badly. But no. He stood in the corner with the knife held in position, and for a moment the only noise in the room was his heavy breathing. Nadir was holding his own breath now, and Erik, the corpse, never seemed to breathe at all.

At last Erik spoke. “I’ll let you have your wife if you let me have mine.” He smiled at Nadir. “Christine assumed him free already, and she knows I can kill him wherever he may be. But.” The smile dropped from his face. “If either of you comes looking for me again, you will find I am not too weak to kill you, only too merciful. And my mercy is far more fragile than my ire.”

He left with a sweep of his coat. Raoul remained standing where he was for a long time, while Nadir tried to think. At last Raoul said, “Now what do we do?”

Now they prayed that Erik wouldn’t return and kill them in their sleep.

“Now you go finish your broth.” Nadir headed back into the kitchen. “You need food if you’re ever going to get better.”

Raoul followed. He put the knife back in its rack carefully, and let his arms fall to his sides, where they swung for a moment. He did not look at Nadir as he sat down. “You have put yourself in danger for me.”

“I’ve been in danger all my life.”

Silence. Then, “Erik was very rude.”

“That’s the mildest way to describe him.”

“He made certain insinuations…” Raoul finally looked up and studied Nadir’s face. Nadir held still. “You know I’d never take the word of a madman.”

“Indeed. Think nothing of his ravings.”

“I won’t.”

 

* * *

 

Raoul was getting better.

His metabolism had always been the sort to change with his mood. As his depression sank into hell, he often got illnesses like this—fevers, lack of appetite, sometimes even fainting spells. When his mood changed, when he got more energy and motivation, such sicknesses left slowly but still more expediently than one might imagine. With the attention of another, they disappeared fast.

He felt guilty for how quickly he was recovering now. Philippe was dead—surely that warranted at least a month in bed, grieving and moaning and weeping. And then he berated himself for that thought. Philippe’s death wasn’t about him, and Philippe had always hated his sicknesses. He ought to get better quickly so as to rescue Christine, and kill Philippe’s murderer. That would be far more productive.

The problem was he couldn’t help feeling kind of good. Nadir’s food was delicious, and his bed was so much more comfortable than a cell—while it was not as nice as the bed at home, he barely remembered what that felt like. And Nadir was around almost constantly, hovering and talking to Raoul and reassuring him whenever he was troubled.

Nadir really was a good man.

The problem was that Nadir wasn’t just morally upstanding, he was also very good looking.

His face, for one thing. He had the darkest, most soulful eyes Raoul could remember seeing in his life. His skin was smooth and dark, and it had a certain sheen in lamplight in the evenings. He had a beard and mustache that were always carefully trimmed, and his hair was almost black and a little wavy and it, too, shimmered when the light hit it. And then there was his body. But Raoul was trying very hard not to think about his body.

This was difficult when Nadir kept on _touching him_. Steadying him as he walked, squeezing his arm in comfort, ruffling his hair for no reason at all that Raoul could see, sometimes even helping him to change his clothes for bed or when he got up in the morning. It was very frustrating. When he did this Raoul had to fight to stay still, and then would realize this only made him appear the more unnatural. Ordinary men didn’t cringe away at another man’s touch.

Nadir had a way of looking at him, too, that Raoul could imagine was almost lustful in its admiration. But doubtless that was just because of his eyes. Those eyes.

Raoul had a brother to avenge and a friend to rescue. He had no time for idiotic infatuation.

“I am stronger now,” he said, when a week had passed.

Nadir replied, “Yes. But still the sickness haunts you.”

This was a conversation they’d had every morning. But today, Raoul was telling the plain truth. Had Erik stopped in today, he could have used the knife on him easily. There was a strength and purpose in his limbs that he had not felt in weeks.

“We do not have a plan yet to rescue Christine.”

“I have been neglecting her,” Nadir admitted. “Today, I will return to the opera house and see what I can do.”

“You can’t be planning on going down into that labyrinth without me.”

“No. But I’ve been thinking it might not be a bad idea.”

Raoul gaped. “You are insane.”

Nadir sipped his coffee. “Erik is out to get you, but he has been known to spare me before. The two of us working together accomplished little last time.”

“He has a reason at least to keep me alive—he wants to use me against Christine—but he might kill you out of hand.”

“I have dealt with Erik alone before.”

“You won’t this time.”

Nadir sighed. “Fine. We’ll talk about that later. But I was only going to listen to the rumors today. We will see what people say has been going on with the opera ghost, or whether there is any news.”

“Fine. But if you venture into danger without me, I swear to God—”

“I won’t.” Nadir stood. He bent down, hesitated with his face an inch from Raoul’s, then patted him on the back. “Don’t leave the house. I will not stay out long.”

It was ridiculously, humiliatingly domestic.

Raoul spent much of the day pacing. Until now he had not experienced the full boredom of being sick. Nadir had been around constantly, and he was such an interesting man that Raoul had barely minded being first kept in bed and then confined to the apartment. Now he resorted to shuffling through Nadir’s books. Most of them were in Arabic. The others Raoul could barely focus on.

Would Nadir really stay out of danger?

Raoul had a premonition, though perhaps it was too logical to be called that. This arrangement the two of them had would not last; it couldn’t. The next time they faced Erik, luck would not be on their side. One of them might get hurt. One of them might die. Worst of all, Raoul might end up back in his old cell in the Communist sector.

He hated to think of that place, of the person he had been in that place. Life had drained away from him slowly but unstoppably. With every day he had more accepted the loss of everything he had. If he got caught again, he might break faster this time. He had already given up on returning to his family—even if they rescued Christine he would be a fugitive all the same unless they could get Erik to confess to Philippe’s murder for the police, which was…optimistically he called it improbable. He had almost given up on rescuing Christine. He had not seen her in so long, and it was beginning to feel like a futile struggle. But he wouldn’t give up on that, of course. He was one of the few people she had left who might try to help her.

That was not a comforting thing, though. The only happy, soft thing he had left to believe in, were he to be captured again, was Nadir. Nadir and…whatever it was that was forming between them.

And he thought before everything inevitably fell apart he at least ought to figure out what this thing was.

 

* * *

 

When Nadir came home, Raoul kissed him.

It happened as soon as he stepped through the door, before he had even spoken a greeting. The kiss was on his jaw, barely missing his lips, which appeared to have been the target. It was brief, somewhat mechanical, and then Raoul stepped away blushing, yet looking at him inquisitively.

“I…see you were lonely,” Nadir said.

“Did you have any luck at the opera house?”

“The opera ghost has not been making any appearances. So I suppose no.” Nadir sat down on the parlor’s sofa. “Will you sit with me?”

Raoul did so.

Nadir gently put a hand up to Raoul’s cheek and looked into his eyes. Was he offering what Nadir thought he was? Well, Raoul had said he did not love Christine, not in that way at least, and before those rumors spread there had been earlier talk of Raoul being “unnatural”. He had no mistress, that much was certain. Nadir had thought it over before, idly, before putting it aside. Even if he were queer, a boy as young and pretty and well-born as him would want nothing with a half-gray foreigner.

He moved his thumb along Raoul’s chin and touched his lower lip. Daring, Raoul licked it, poking his tongue out between his lips.

So, Nadir kissed him.

Properly they would have headed to the bedroom soon after that but Raoul had spent so much time sick in that bed that it would hardly have been erotic. Nadir had been spending his own nights on the sofa until now (perhaps he wouldn’t have to anymore?) and was no longer impressed by its softness (it was still too narrow to get comfortable), but at least it was convenient. He wondered when Raoul would have a crisis of conscience or find himself too out of breath to go on, but he had enough energy to kiss and caress and suck until both of them were wrung dry. Nadir didn’t even propose fucking. It wasn’t the best for a first encounter and besides, Raoul shouldn’t be exerting himself.

No crises of conscience were had on either side, at least until they were done. Then Raoul sighed, leaned against Nadir, and stared pensively at the wall.

Thinking of how Philippe might disapprove?

That was far too loaded of a question, so instead Nadir just said, “You did a good job.” Which came out sounding like the words of a choir director or a teacher. But he wasn’t sure what else to say, to lift Raoul’s mood.

“I love you,” Raoul said suddenly.

Nadir took out a cigar. He lit it, considered what to say, took a long drag. “You’re young and foolish. Think it over before you say something like that.”

“I’m not young if I might die tomorrow.”

Nadir pulled away. He frowned. “I won’t take you to rescue your Christine if you’re going to act suicidal.”

“I’m just being practical.”

“You aren’t going to die. You’re going to live to a nice old age—like me.”

“You aren’t that old.”

“Do you want a cigar?” Of course Raoul didn’t smoke. He did end up taking a puff of Nadir’s cigar though, and he barely coughed. Some people said tobacco was good for the constitution. Maybe it would help him get better.

“Well, if you’re well enough for that, I think we can have meat for dinner,” Nadir said brightly. “I know you’ve been longing for some.”

“So you’ve decided to stop starving me?”

“Spoiled noble.” Nadir kissed his cheek, just because he could. “If you’re going to demand it, I will try to satisfy you in every way.”

Raoul smiled lazily. “You are too good to me. Let me help with dinner for once.”

“If you insist.” Again, if he had enough energy for that…

And so they went into the kitchen to prepare themselves some dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp I finally wrote some Daraoulga so there it is y'all. It's pretty late at night. Guess I should go to bed. Man...I haven't been feeling entirely well myself. Not sure what's up with that.  
> I spent a long time trying to come up with an ending where they went to rescue Christine and either it worked or it didn't and Christine decided to stay with Erik or it just straight up failed entirely and they almost died and all kinds of things but I eventually gave up. Let's just say--it doesn't matter what happens in the future, it matters what they are too each other now! Anyways the main plot here is about Raoul and Nadir not Christine and Erik so they can deal.  
> (Also I successfully slipped in the "did Raoul shoot Erik" discourse so what up guys. Leaving it ambiguous so you can believe what you want but you all know my opinion.)  
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated. Or come talk to me on tumblr at convenientalias.


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